Thanks a lot for bringing tears to my eyes, Scorp. For more than a decade of my life, there was a particular dog in my life. He was there, as a pup, when I was 5 and nearly stepped on a spotted adder. He got its attention while I ran back to the field, then he followed me (later in his life, he'd learned to snap a snake's neck).
It went the other way, too. I responded to the combat he was in with a woodchuck (Native American = otchek, aka groundhog) nearly his size. He may have eventually won but much the worse for wear: a definite fight for survival for the both of them since, with his temperment, he would continue to the bitter end. After waiting for a clear shot, I threw a large rock onto the back of of the woodchuck, its demise at hand.
Very jealous if another dog got my attention, he attacked a German shepherd I was petting. I have a scar from a tooth hole, from 28 pounds of swinging fury, in my finger. I'd tried to stop his attack and took the bite, myself; a permanent souvenier to remember him by.
He was part cocker spaniel and part terrier. All of his features favored the spaniel except his short legs -- we named him "Stubby."